Memento
by Alchemechanist
Summary: "There comes a time when you must choose your life over the lives of others, no matter they be man or beast. This is not the world you have come from. This is a realm of survival by any means, and if you do not realize that soon you will be the first to die." Artemis is sick. They're all sick. A tale of snow, monsters, memory, and loss. Oneshot.


_"Memory is all we are. Moments and feelings, captured in amber, strung on filaments of reason. Take a man's memories and you take all of him. Chip away a memory at a time and you destroy him as surely as if you hammered nail after nail through his skull." _

_-Mark Lawrence, King of Thorns_

* * *

Something cracks behind his eyes, splintering the optic nerve slowly, akin to the ice creeping down his coat collar. The sun is somehow searing him from behind the heavy clouds. He doesn't seem to know if toes were made to have feeling because he can't remember feeling them before. This should be important.

It should be important that he's unfamiliar with his body, with this place, with the sound of his own voice when he screams bloody murder into the empty air. It's bitterly cold. It's fragile.

There; something is dragging through the snow behind him. He rolls over, pulling a knife from his pocket. It's a tiny woman wrapped in heavy gear. She looks about ready to drop. She's beautiful. It makes his ribs ache, creaking against his lungs.

"Stop," he rasps. He doesn't make for a very menacing figure, sprawled in the snow with a knife held loosely in his hand.

She sighs. "Thank the gods. You're alive. We've been looking for you for days." She takes another step toward him.

He scrambles to his feat, a Herculean effort (what does that mean? Who is Hercules?). His knife is trembling in his grasp. "I don't know who you are or what you're talking about," he gasps. "Stay away from me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," she says. She really is tiny. Too small to be an adult, but she's obviously not a child. This sets his nerves on edge. She's dangerous, despite her attempt to be nonthreatening. He's not going anywhere with her. He holds his knife tightly, backing away. Her already miserable face falls. "Arty," she says. "I'm not your enemy. I'm going to take you home. I'm your friend. I'm _Holly_."

The muted sunlight flashes off the knife blade, blinding him. "I don't know you," he says.

* * *

"Centaur dearest," Artemis says smoothly, leaning back in his antique oxblood desk chair. "How may I assist you in saving the world today?"

Foaly scowls from the Ops Booth. "What makes you think I need your help?"

"You never call for social reasons twice in one week, and last night all we did was chat about your spawn." He smiles, baring an incisor. "So. How can I help you?"

A short staring battle commences before Foaly concedes and pulls some labwork onto the screen. Artemis's eyes flick over the numbers, his brow furrowing into familiar lines as his mind sinks into the data.

"What do you make of it?" Foaly asks.

"I don't recognize the chemical makeup," Artemis replies, obviously disturbed. "Give me the backstory."

"I've never seen this before," Foaly says, twiddling a carrot between his fingers. "It's like a genetic disorder crossed with a virus. Blood and sexual transmission. Spreading like wildfire down here, especially in lower-class neighborhoods. Drugs, prostitution. You know."

"Point of origin?"

"No idea. No patient zero to be found either."

Artemis steeples his fingers, almost kissing his thumbs. "Intriguing," he says. "How difficult would it be to send me samples?"

"Child's play. Our top guys are baffled and praying for a miracle."

A smirk plays over Artemis's lips. "Aren't you the 'top guy' down below?"

Foaly hangs up on him.

Two minutes later, an email appears in Artemis's inbox.

_Samples en route. Grudgingly._

* * *

"All I'm saying," Holly tells him, "is that Opal could potentially be behind this."

Artemis rolls his eyes at his laptop, which is cheerily perched next to some petri dishes. "Yes, well. Any mishap on the planet could potentially have Opal backing it. This isn't her style, Holly. Some things are just chance." He peers at his screen before injecting a new sample into a slice of brain tissue. "How many are dead?"

"92. Which may not sound like a huge deal to you, but the population of _your _species is significantly larger."

"Significantly, by approximately seven billion."

"And smellier."

"I can't argue with you there." He flips a magnifying glass down over his safety goggles. "From what I've heard, it's affecting all members of the People, regardless of sub-species."

Miles below ground, Holly props her boots up on her desk, thoroughly bored with office life. "Right. They start forgetting stuff, and it progresses until they're basically vegetables and their bodies shut down."

"Timeline?"

"I'd call it three to four weeks from first symptoms to death. Incubation periods vary wildly from a few days up to two weeks." She twiddles an ePen, clearly hating her life at the desk. "Trubs says it's little things that go missing at first. You know?"

Artemis's head jerks up. _"Trubs?"_

"Gah, Commander Kelp. Whatever."

He feigns casual, but Holly sees right through him. "How was your date?"

She starts. "How did you know about that?"

"Oh, let's see. Who's the one person who I would suffer gossiping with in the Lower Elements who has a direct connection to your personal life."

"Foaly," Holly grumbles. "D'Arvit."

"Well?" Artemis asks, inspecting the brain tissue closer than is probably needed. "How was it?"

"Fine, I guess."

It was more than fine, and Artemis knows it. Their receipts tell him that they split checks at dinner and the movie (boring, boring) because Holly is stubborn and refuses to let anyone be a gentleman. The GPS on Trouble's communicator tells him that Trouble lingers outside Holly's apartment building for a little over twenty minutes. The blush on Holly's cheeks tells him that she knows he's seeing right through her.

"We're going on another one this weekend, anyway," she adds.

"Good," he responds, perfectly noncommittal. He peers through his microscope, pursing his lips. She sighs.

"Artemis."

"What?"

"I know you two don't like each other, but –"

"I'm happy for you, Holly. Really."

She squints. Readying the next sample, he flashes a beaming smile her way. Artemis never smiles like that with any sort of honesty or good intentions, but she gives in anyway. "How's your love life?"

"Nonexistent," he says, and that's when Beckett pops up over his shoulder just as he makes to insert the syringe back into the brain tissue. Beckett's energetic inquiry vanishes as his foot jerks his brother's arm.

The needle plunges into the back of Artemis's hand.

His elbow jerks, knocking two petri dishes from the counter. They shatter on the floor.

"Don't move!" he shouts, and Beckett stops his squirming, latching onto his older brother. Artemis yanks the needle from his hand, slamming his palm into the panic button under the table. Butler is at the door within seconds.

"Get Beckett out," Artemis says shortly as Holly watches silently over video. "Don't touch any of the blood on the floor. Don't touch anything. Get him out and make sure he doesn't have any open wounds. Then find out how he got into my lab and make sure that there is no way he can do it ever again."

Butler does as he's told, concern lining his face. The second the door closes Artemis swoops down upon the weakly bleeding puncture wound and begins to violently suck the blood out.

"Artemis?" Holly says, her voice very small. "Please tell me that needle was sterile."

"I could tell you that," he answers, his teeth red around the edges. "But then I'd be lying."

* * *

"We need to talk," Foaly says from Artemis's computer, and the genius absently nods, continuing to paw through his desk drawers in search of the drafts for his latest C Cube thermoregulatory chip (a project continued in secret, of course).

"Yes," he replies, his brow furrowing as he digs his fingers underneath a box of calligraphy pens. "We do. About how much havoc you wreck on my computers when you force a connection instead of just calling like a normal person."

For once, Foaly ignores the jab. "No. 1 has had a stroke of luck," he says. "He was digging through some old mythical scrolls and thinks he may have found the origin. So I've got good news and bad news."

"Hit me," Artemis murmurs, chewing gently on his lower lip as he pops open the false bottom of his middle drawer. Where is it?

"Well, the good news is; we have a lead, which is more than we've had so far. The bad news is that No. 1 is entirely set on the idea that the origin and, by association, the antidote, can be found in the otherworld."

Artemis pops up from under the desk, raising an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Gnommish translation is about ten words long, but the Welsh called it Annwn."

"Bless you," Artemis says with a smirk. "But yes, I know of it. Vaguely."

Foaly picks at a bit of loose carrot in his teeth. "It's a sort of 'other universe.' The problem is that according to the legends, Annwn is so far away that it surpasses Limbo. It would take some serious navigating of the time stream to reach it."

"Still, it's only a legend."

"No. 1 has done a fairly good job of convincing me. It took him about a week to do it, but his reasoning it pretty damn sound and once he got Qwan on his side it got a lot more convincing. I'll send you the files I have compiled." Foaly stops, squinting. "What are you looking for?"

"Drafts," Artemis says absently.

Foaly's shoulders droop a bit, all traces of levity leaking out of his voice. "Artemis," he says gravely.

"What?" the genius snaps. "It's been over a month since the accidental puncture, and I must have extracted all of the tainted blood from my system, since I've showed no signs of memory loss or forgetfulness. Misplacing a draft is hardly reason to suspect —"

"Holly's birthday was two days ago." Foaly interrupts. Artemis stops short.

"I — what?"

"You didn't even call her," the centaur continues. "You two had set up a video chat for that night, right when she got off work."

Artemis freezes, his jaw loosening just enough for his lips to part. "I — oh, of course. Stupid of me. I was busy that day. It must have slipped my mind."

Foaly swallows. The sound is tinny over the speakers. "You're Artemis Fowl. Things don't just 'slip your mind.'"

"We're outside of the incubation period."

"Yes, the ones that we know of, but you're the first human with exposure. You're a new case entirely."

The genius stares at the screen for a long time before shaking himself and looking critically at the binder in his hand. "Right, well. Anyway," he says. "This theory of the cure being in the otherworld. I'll look over the files and start research immediately." He places the binder aside, eyeing it. "Just what was I looking for, again?"

* * *

No. 1 pounds the table hard enough to put a dent in it (magically, despite his insistence that he's been putting in hours at the LEP gym), pulling Artemis and Holly's attention away from bickering with each other and back to him. "So you agree?" he asks squeakily.

Artemis sighs, carding a hand through his hair. "I've done my own research on the topic and thoroughly explored your notes, and… grudgingly, yes." He purses his lips. "This 'otherworld' seems like a long shot, but it's the only lead we have in terms of viable solutions to this epidemic."

Holly snorts.

"Like it or not," Trouble tells her, kneading at his temples, "there don't seem to be any solutions here or aboveground. Not that we can find."

"I would agree," Artemis says, his expression making it very clear that agreeing with Trouble Kelp is a ghastly sacrifice on his behalf. Unnoticed, Butler rolls his eyes. "While we have seen symptoms like this happen in the case of Alzheimer's, which affects only humans, there is no brain degeneration with this epidemic and this descent is far more rapid. Based on data from scans and blood tests, it appears to be entirely magically based."

"Like Spelltrophy," Butler murmurs. Artemis inclines his head.

"But this would involve us going into Limbo," Holly says. "Past even. All for a line in some ancient prophecy scrolls, what was it…"

"_And from the depths of Annwn a sickness, of which there is no cure in the physical world, shall bridge the gap between the otherworld and our universe, cleansing our People of knowledge and remembrance_," Artemis recites from memory. "A rough translation, and it's not like prophets are entirely reliable sources, but there is too much similarity to ignore."

"Well, at least he still remembers something," Trouble grumbles. Holly elbows him in the ribs.

"Fine," she says. "So it's all we've got. But it's still past Limbo, whatever that means. Could you do it, No. 1?"

The demon taps his lips. "Yes. Perhaps. With very few bodies."

"How many?" Trouble asks.

"Mm…" No. 1 scowls. "Myself, plus four people. Maybe three."

A collective wince goes around the table.

"We have no idea what's out there," Foaly says. "We need highly trained officers."

"There will definitely be quantum zombies," No. 1 mutters. Holly fingers the trigger of her Neutrino.

"That's it," she says. "I'm going."

"You may be facing more humanoid species," Artemis points out. "I should go as well, in case the natives are put off by a demon warlock and whatever other tiny creatures accompany him."

Trouble's eyes narrow. "You've got the disease yourself, Fowl. We wouldn't want you wandering off into the unknown with an addled brain."

Artemis's jaw tightens. "My brain is hardly _addled_, Commander. I'm merely forgetful on rare occasions."

"What color are your socks right now?" Trouble challenges.

Artemis halts, blinking, and then sneers. "Black. Every imbecile knows that you simply must wear black socks with black trousers. Regardless, how will you test a cure if you do not have a test subject?"

Trouble scoffs, shaking his head. Butler clears his throat.

"If Artemis goes, I go. End of story."

"Great," Trouble says, throwing his hands in the air. "Another Mud Man on a fairy expedition."

"He _is_ terrific in combat," Artemis offers up, inspecting his perfectly manicured nails. Trouble bares his teeth, ready to serve up a scathing respond when Holly decides it's time to intervene and grabs Trouble's hand a little too roughly to be considered kind.

"So we've got No. 1 and me, yes?" she says. "Trouble, there's no way the council is letting you go, and that leaves two slots, am I correct?"

"Yes," he says, his eyes flitting down to their joined hands and up to Artemis, who is carefully maintaining an expression of utter neutrality. The Commander smiles sardonically. "Slots I'd like to fill with the LEP's best."

"Artemis is right," she replies. "We need someone to test a possible cure on."

Trouble's face turns sour.

"She's right, Trubs," Foaly says.

"_Commander."_

"Right, Commander," Foaly deadpans. "Real sorry about that."

Holly eyes Artemis. He's staring off into space with his thinking face on, all furrowed brows and frowns and wrinkles on a too-young face. "You okay?" she mutters as Foaly and Trouble bicker about formalities and threats to research budgets.

He looks at her and thinks about earlier in the day, sitting in the kitchen while Butler made tea sandwiches, gossiping mildly about the state of household affairs. About how he had tried to say his mother's name and come up empty for a good thirty seconds. About how Butler had touched his charge's cheek without a word, letting his shining eyes speak for him.

"Never been better," he says, smiling softly, and Holly lets herself believe him.

* * *

They're all down to their underwear when Butler notices Artemis watching the proceedings with a sort of panicked confusion. He's very still, halfway through slipping off his socks, eyes darting from Holly, in her one piece, to Trouble, still very much clothed. Butler plants himself right in his charge's eyeline.

"Everything alright?"

Artemis swallows heavily, nods, and then shakes his head sharply. "I… uh…"

"What have you forgotten?"

The young man's pale face flushes out of frustration and embarrassment and Butler feels his eyes soften as they only do for Artemis. "The fact that we're stripping down to our undergarments would tell me we're going into a time stream," Artemis says quietly. "Just… what for, exactly?"

The way he looks at his bodyguard, eyes wide and terrified and utterly helpless, breaks Butler's heart. It would be one thing to watch Artemis fall and know he could have stopped it, but no amount of training can protect him from the magic that is slowly seeping into the crevices of his brain. There will come a time, Butler knows, when Artemis will look at him and not know who he is.

"Artemis, you ready?" Holly barks.

The speed with which Artemis composes himself is admirable. "Yes, one moment," he says, peeling off his last sock and tossing the pair into the pile of clothing and equipment. He looks to his bodyguard, fidgeting. "I take it this sudden memory loss has something to do with our excursion."

"Yes."

"I trust your judgment, old friend. Don't let the others know. I get the feeling that the good Commander is just waiting for a chance to knock us out of the mission."

Butler swallows hard. Artemis strides forward as confidently as he can in only his boxer briefs, taking his place between Holly and his manservant. On the other side of the circle, No. 1 grins broadly.

"You kids be careful out there," Foaly says from behind his machinery. "Remember, because this is a dimensional leap as opposed to a temporal leap and No. 1 is keeping you leashed at all times, the time you spend there should match the time you're gone here. So keep it as brief as possible. People are dying."

Artemis looks to Butler, bewildered, and mouths _Limbo?_

Butler shakes his head minutely.

"And really, be careful," Foaly says softly. "And takes notes when you can. We don't know what's out there."

Before No. 1 can begin the dimensional breach, Trouble steps forward into the circle and kisses Holly on the forehead. Her cheeks color and her eyes drop to the floor.

"Stay safe," he says, and steps out again, his eyes meeting Artemis's. He smirks ever-so-slightly. Butler swears that Artemis will be the first person in recorded history to kill someone using only a facial expression.

"Ooh, gettin' steamy," No. 1 says, but his grin falls instantly at the multiple death glares sent his direction. "You know what, I think it's best we leave promptly. Immediately. Now."

"Then get on with it," Holly growls, her eyes still glued to the ground.

They join hands, No. 1 beginning to chant with a much deeper voice than the adorable squeak they're all used to. It's as if a choir has joined with him as the magic sweeps around the circle, zipping through their blood and bone, the voices resonating through their nervous systems.

Artemis's breath comes fast. Butler squeezes his hand reassuringly. On the other side, Holly does the same, gently stroking her thumb across the back of his hand. Artemis affords enough distraction to send a jeer Trouble's way, but the sparks swirling around them have become too thick for him to see through, and he turns back to the circle.

"Annwn!" he whispers. Butler lets out a sigh of relief, and then they're gone.

* * *

The jump is horrific, not that they can see anything. Their eyes are gone, as well as their minds. Their bodies fizzle into nothingness, their consciousness strewn out across infinite universes and the entire timeline of existence. And somehow, they are all one.

When Artemis face-plants into the dirt, his hand scrabbles at his ribs, making sure that they're all intact. He could have sworn claws were shredding him to ribbons.

"If that was a quantum zombie," he says, gasping, "then I think I've seen enough for a lifetime, thank you _very_ much."

No one quite has the energy to respond, but then someone digs their fingers into Artemis's hair and yanks his head up. He cries out, but before Butler can get to him there's a blade pressing into the clean sweep of his throat.

Holly and No. 1 both cry out protests in multiple languages, none of which seem to have any affect. Artemis feels the blade scrape at his skin when he swallows, and locks eyes with Butler, who has an unfortunately familiar expression on — the one that reads as _damn it, Artemis, what have you gotten yourself into this time? What do I do? How do I get you out of this one?_

His captor finally speaks in a rough language that reminds him vaguely of Welsh, and Holly and No. 1 cock their heads in unison as the language inserts itself into their library.

Holly holds up her hands. Says something calmly. Points to Artemis. Continues.

The captor speaks back, unyielding. Their hands smell of leather and blood.

This is going nowhere fast. Artemis knows exactly one Welsh phrase due to his research, and dares to speak.

"_Hir yw'r dydd a hir yw'r nos, a hir yw aros Arawn."_

Holly and No. 1 both look to him, bewildered. But the captor releases Artemis, letting him fall back to the dirt.

He turns. It's a woman, armored and loaded with weapons. A guard of some sort. Her suspicious face confirms it.

"Do you speak English?" he asks.

"Aye," she says cautiously.

"Of course she bloody speaks English," Holly grumbles. "For once, things turn out convenient for us and we almost get Artemis killed."

The guard juts her chin to the field behind them. "I am she called Aerona, guard of the realm of Annwn and servant to Arawn himself. What that was, what you just appeared from? I have seen it before."

No. 1 perks up. "A time tunnel? You've had people from other universes visit before?"

Aerona doesn't release her weapon. "Aye, if a time tunnel be of the nature of what you came through. Our visitor was wee, akin to you. Not like the men. But like the woman, and the…" She eyes No. 1, her nose wrinkling. "Foul creature."

"I'm not foul!" No. 1 pouts. "How rude."

"What did they look like?" Holly asks, ignoring his squeaky protests.

"Pale as snow," Aerona says, pointing to Artemis. "With locks of raven shade much like his. Ears pointed unlike anything human. A smile that could freeze the land. She did not stay for more than a few nights, but we were glad to see her go."

Holly elbows Artemis in the hip. "What did I tell you?"

"Pixies all have the same complexion, it could have been anyone," he hisses, rubbing at the sore skin.

"We believe she may have brought a sickness to our world," Holly says, speaking up. Aerona blinks.

"The erasure of the mind?" she asks.

"Yes," Holly says. "My People have it. And now so does he." Her hand brushes the small of Artemis's back, and he shivers ever so slightly.

"I am sorry," Aerona says. "Here, whole villages have been downed by this illness. We have lost many." She eyes Artemis. "I would not have threatened your blood, had I known you had the illness."

"Do I?" he asks, brow quirking.

No. 1 winces out loud. Holly stands taller.

"We're looking for a cure. We believe it may be where the disease originated."

Aerona's face darkens. "Then you will have to go to the realm of Hafgan, enemy to Arawn. Perhaps at one time we would have sent soldiers to seek the cure to this disease he has surely sent upon us, but no more. The land is treacherous and frozen, run amok with monsters beyond your darkest dreams and too cold to face."

"We have to go anyway," Butler says. "We need the cure."

"You cannot go alone," she says. "Not without a guide. You will be lost before the sun sets."

"Then will you lead us?" he asks. "Not only to save us, but your people?"

She falters and then stands tall, the battle axe strapped to her back gleaming dully in the sun. "I will take you to the capital city," she says. "Arawn will decide."

She turns and trudges off through the field toward the woods that border it. They scramble into their clothes and their packs and follow her, Artemis sighing irritably at the exertion. Holly watches him as they walk, and grins when he catches her eye, knowing that the smiles they share are numbered.

They enter the capital city within a few hours. The people are rough, haggard. Some of them sit, blank and vapid, staring at nothing. These are the ones Artemis can't look away from. They draw multitudes of suspicious and curious stares as Aerona leads them over the cobblestones and through the winding streets towards the looming, rough-hewn palace at the center. No one speaks. It's eerie.

There has been unspeakable loss here, and it chills the travelers to the bone.

Arawn sits widely in his throne, knees splayed, all heavy furs and scarred skin. Holly draws in a sharp breath, taking hold on No. 1's hand when he shudders and tries to shrink behind Butler.

Aerona kneels before him and they do the same, watching anxiously as she and the king exchange words in the same harsh language as before. The firelight from the heavy iron chandeliers deepens the pits and disfigurements of the king's face, his face growing more and more stormy the more Aerona speaks. When he stands it's with drama and flair, punctuated by him throwing his furs from his shoulders and stomping his heavy boots down the stone steps. He makes his way straight for Artemis, who puts a hand out to still Butler's reaction as Arawn stands above him.

"You, boy," he says, his accent thick and gravelly, the sound of it resonating off the high walls. "You are the diseased?"

"I am," Artemis answers, his voice weak echoing weakly in comparison.

"What are you called?"

"Artemis."

"What was the realm of your birth?"

"Ireland, outside of Dublin."

"How many winters have you seen?"

And there's where Artemis falters, his eyes wide upon the king. The blood drains from his face.

"He's asking how old you are," No. 1 supplies.

"I know what he's asking," Artemis hisses. His eyes are suspiciously shiny in the firelight, his breath coming raggedly.

"Calm yourself," Arawn says, kneeling, placing a hand on Artemis's shoulder. The guards shift around them, murmuring, but quiet quickly as Arawn raises his fist in the air. He looks to Butler. "You are responsible for him?"

Butler nods.

Arawn's face is grave. "He is not gone yet. He has perhaps a fortnight until his body and mind know nothing, and then soon after he will go to his fathers." Arawn stands, and the group follows. The king has to look down to speak to Butler. "I know not these creatures that you travel with, but as you are a man similar to my own and I am a king in the throes of desperation, I will give you pardon. My people die by the score. Chaos is leaking through my cities. I cannot spare the soldiers to travel to Hafgan's realm with such a high chance of death, but if you are willing to lay down your lives then I will lend you Aerona. She will guide and protect you, in exchange for you bringing a remedy back should you find it."

"Thank you," Butler says, and bows his head.

"Ride you well," Arawn says. "The road will be treacherous and your joy slight."

And he strides back to his throne, casting his furs back around his shoulders. They turn to go, Aerona by their side, and make it through the threshold of the great oak doors before Arawn speaks again.

"When the boy knows no more, you will do best to leave him behind," he says, and Butler plants a hand on Holly's shoulder to keep her from charging him. "It will do more harm than good than to take him against his will."

The doors close heavily behind them.

* * *

They stay the night in the capitol city, Butler and Aerona taking the lead on collecting supplies for the journey. The weapons are heavy and deadly, wicked-looking things of iron and leather, and the dried meats they pack look to be from the leanest of animals.

Holly tries to explain to Aerona that she can't eat meat. Aerona is utterly baffled, even as the elf explains the culture of magic and shows her the Book. Butler eventually intervenes and promises Holly they'll stock up on other options as well, though Aerona is still looking at her like she's an alien.

Once darkness falls, and Butler and Aerona are still out in the town, Holly pulls rank and orders an early bedtime. No. 1 waddles off to find a toilet, leaving Holly to configure their blankets into something resembling beds, since Artemis is basically useless when it comes to household chores.

"I'm seeing now that it would have been wiser," he says, watching the muscles of her shoulders stretch as she tosses a wool blanket over a pallet of straw, "to send someone else on this journey in my place."

"Well, yeah, especially since we now have other humans to try the cure on," Holly says, "but what's done is done."

Artemis slumps against the wall, stewing. "I'll admit that I knew it was wiser _before_ we came here."

Holly turns, cocking her head, her hands coming to her hips. "Oh, really?" she says. "And you insisted on coming _why_?"

Artemis's face is turned resolutely in shadow, hiding the flush that is spreading over his cheekbones. "There is a fair chance we might all die on this quest," he says. "That _you_ might die. I couldn't stand by and wait and never know."

Her jaw is set. "I can't believe you — actually, who am I kidding? Of course I can; who else would be so incredibly selfish? You are not the only person involved here, Artemis. If you had _known_ it was a bad idea from the start — Frond, you lied _again!" _She turns her back on him with a huff, tossing the blankets up with violence, the fabric snapping in midair.

They sit in silence for a long while, Holly's body tense and coiled, anger humming through the sinew of her limbs with ever motion.

"Holly…" Artemis ventures after a while.

"What?" she snaps.

"Is there a reason you're angry with me?" he asks hesitantly.

Holly stares at him blankly before stepping forward and ever-so-softly brushing his fringe away from his forehead.

"Sixteen winters," she whispers, and goes to bed.

* * *

Aerona procures two horses to add to her own, and by dawn they're leaving the torches of the city behind them. The huge black horse, Golau Leuad, scares the living daylights out of No. 1, but he goes with Aerona, who swallows her disdain admirably. Holly rides with Butler on Gaeaf, an enormous white mare, and Artemis takes the smaller auburn Ceffyl Merlen, which has the fairies almost doubled over with laughter.

"What?" he asks indignantly.

"His name is basically 'Horse Horse,'" Holly chokes before she and No. 1 dissolve into a new fit of hilarity.

They ride strong on dirt trails through miles of forest, the horses never once tiring. Aerona is fully loaded with armaments, Butler and Holly wearing a heavy mixture of Annwnian, LEP, and personal weaponry. No. 1 opts for only a Neutrino, and Artemis, more concerned with the high possibility of stabbing himself with a sword than anything else, takes one of Butler's Sigs at his insistence. Even with the load, the horses ride full speed until dusk, when Aerona insists they make camp.

"In the morning we will cross the river border," she says. "Then we will be in the realm of Hafgan, and the treachery will begin."

Then No. 1 starts a campfire out of nothing, and she quickly excuses herself to forage for food.

"Tone it down a little," Butler suggests. "I think the whole sparkly magic thing is freaking her out a bit."

"The people of Annwn are more used to mythological magic," Artemis says, absently petting Horse Horse's mane. "I imagine a more upfront presence would be unnerving."

"It wasn't to you, back in the day," Holly remarks from the ground, where she's entering data into a flat silvery gray machine that hums gently and occasionally puts up holograms of photos she's taken of the landscape. The machine is engraved with intricate patterns that seem to move in Artemis's periphery.

"Technology might be something to avoid as well," he points out. "Are you taking notes?"

"Trouble asked me to."

"What an interesting method of doing it. Beautiful design. Foaly's sense of style really has improved."

Holly gives him an odd look. "You made this for me, Arty," she says. Artemis scowls and stomps off into the woods grumbling about relieving himself, Butler at his tail.

* * *

They haven't ridden for an hour the next day when they reach the river border. It's unassuming, with a simple stone bridge built over it. The guard lets them pass without incident.

By the time they reach the other bank Artemis would swear it's dropped 10 degrees and roots around for a jumper.

"I have been in this territory thrice before, all in more peaceful times," Aerona says. "And even then, we lost many soldiers to the beasts within."

Artemis coaxes Horse Horse closer to Butler's mount.

Within the hour flurries have begun to fall, and they stop to bundle up in the winter clothing Aerona had collected for all of them. When Artemis remounts he's wearing wool-lined trousers, enormous fur-lined boots, leather gloves, a thick coat and a heavy hooded cloak of fur and leather. Butler looks like an Annwn native in his new clothing, the fairies like bundled-up children. They're miserable in the cold. Holly's cheeks and the tip of her hooked nose are already pink with the chill. She buries her face into Gaeaf's mane.

They make it to nighttime without any incident other than an increase in snowfall. The trees have fallen away, giving way to unforgiving tundra. Wind whips across the icy ground, blowing snow across for miles and chilling them to the bone. Aerona takes out what looks like an arctic hare and has No. 1 make another fire. Butler skins and cooks the animal while Aerona keeps watch, her hand never leaving the hilt of her sword. Holly, looking sick, busies herself with sharpening her knives.

"Tomorrow we will come to Ewloe," Aerona says later, tearing rabbit meat from bone with her teeth. Holly is standing watch ten meters away, astutely not looking at them. "It is a fairly friendly village, far from Hafgan's conflict. They might have some idea of where to look from here."

"And we'll need an idea," Butler says. "We're stumbling blind."

"And running out of time," Aerona adds, ripping the meat away savagely.

They've barely finished eating when Holly shouts out a warning. Artemis turns just in time to see her bowled over by a gigantic black hound, its teeth long and snapping at her flesh. Holly writhes underneath the beast, fighting to draw her Neutrino and to avoid the incisors inches from her neck.

Aerona reaches the dog moments before Butler, swinging her battle axe with all her might and embedding the blade deep within the dog's skull. Blood stains the snow as the hound crumples on top of the tiny elf and obscures her entirely from view.

Artemis is running toward them before he even realizes it, screaming Holly's name as together Aerona and Butler heave the mutt off of her. She's impossibly small in lieu of the beast, her body forced into the snow, soaked in red, so much red. He slides the last yard on his knees, grabbing her by the shoulders, Holly, Holly, _Holly!_

Her eyes are open. He feels her trembling beneath his hands as he touches her face, her hair — she's covered in blood. She raises a hand to take one of his.

"I'm okay," she says softly. God, her hands are so _small_. "I'm okay, Artemis." She pushes herself up on her elbows, turning to glare at Aerona, who watches her warily. "You didn't have to _kill _it."

"It would just as soon torn us all to pieces," the guard answers. "Cŵn Annwn are monsters. There is no reasoning, only slaughter."

Butler helps Holly to her feet. Artemis, desperately needing something to do, cards a bloody hand through his hair. "The hounds of Annwn."

"Aye," Aerona says. "Their howls foretell death to those who hear them. They are loudest at a distance, and grow softer as they grow near."

"I didn't hear any howling," No. 1 says, eyeing Holly for wounds.

"Then we were not meant to die today," Aerona says.

"No. 1, cut it out," Holly says. "I'm fine, just… bloody." She glares at Aerona.

"Would you have rather I have let you be ripped to shreds?" the guard asks.

"I can speak to animals," Holly snaps. "No. 1 as well. It's part of our Gift. Could you kill or eat something you could speak to?"

"I have killed many enemy soldiers and monsters alike," Aerona says stiffly. "There comes a time when you must choose your life over the lives of others, no matter they be man or beast. This is not the world you have come from. This is a realm of survival by any means, and if you do not realize that soon you will be the first to die."

The silence following is heavy. Aerona and Holly stare each other down until Holly huffs and marches to the far side of their camp, where Artemis is staring out into the void of white. She plops down next to him with a heavy sigh.

"I hate the cold," she says after a long time, once Butler and Aerona have pitched their lambskin shelter. "At least it's not as bad as Russia."

"When were we in Russia?" Artemis asks absently, still looking out toward the swirling mass of snow. He doesn't see Holly's shoulder's slump before she forces herself to brush it off.

"We went to rescue your father," she says. "Root and I were bundled up with heating coils and everything and we were still shivering."

He smiles slightly. "You punched me in the face."

"You got my finger chopped off first."

"And reattached. Don't forget that part." He turns to her, still smiling, but his expression turns to one of aghast horror when he takes in her appearance. "Good lord, what's happened to you?"

She places her hand against his cheek. "Nothing to worry about. But I'll try to get new clothes when we get to Ewloe tomorrow. Don't want you getting freaked out every time you forget."

Butler calls them in to sleep, and they go together.

* * *

The village of Ewloe is shackled and tense. The guards at the gate stop them, but after some quiet discussion with Aerona and, Artemis sees, some exchange of currency, they're allowed in. From behind curtains and crude doors, people watch their progress warily with haunted eyes and heavy brows.

"Where are the adults?" Holly asks, looking around. "I need new clothes. And a bath."

"Great Arawn," Aerona breathes.

"They're sick," Artemis realizes. "They're all sick."

"Not with this," Butler says. "It can't be. Arawn said it was a weapon against his realm. Why would the people Hafgar's realm have it?"

"Diseases spread," Artemis says. "I do not believe Ewloe was meant to be infected."

"They're victims of their own weapon," No. 1 says. "They're _definitely _help us!"

"Do not be fearless, little beast," Aerona says, one hand on her sword. "It will be your downfall."

In the end they find an older girl who gives them more preserved foods and leads Holly to a hot spring. Artemis and Butler sit together. The village is a grim reminder of Artemis's coming demise.

"What are your siblings' names?"

"Beckett and… Myles. Is there a girl as well?"

"No. What color are your father's eyes? And what did you steal because of them?"

"The color… I don't know. I stole Lady Fei Fei's tiara, for Mother, in Father's absence… Blue! They're the bluest blue I've ever seen on a human."

"Mm. So are yours. Genetics and all."

"Yes, they've always been so good to me."

"Don't preen; you look like a prat. What is your seventeenth birthday present?"

"I'm sixteen, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"You might not have known in the first place, actually. Funny, I'm usually not very good at keeping secrets from you. No. 1 is going to take you back in time to 1973. The Bowie concert."

"Good God. The final performance of Ziggy Stardust. I would have been ecstatic."

"You still will be, Artemis. We're getting you home."

"With an absolutely insane amount of luck, we will. We will, old friend."

Holly is given new clothes and then the girl requests that they get back on the road. "We do not want to be seen harboring Arawn's people," she says. "No matter what their cause."

"Ride you well," Aerona says, mounting up. "And thank you."

"The Mywyd Lake," the girl says as they are riding away. "That's what the fallen ones say."

Aerona's face darkens, but she thanks the child and they leave the village of Ewloe behind.

* * *

The days pass slowly and blur together in long sheets of white snow and wind. They journey on steadily, miserable but determined. They pass the long hours between sleep and encounters with more hounds by quizzing Artemis on his life — the more stimulation his brain gets, Aerona reckons, the slower the sickness will spread.

They head toward the Mywyd Lake, as suggested, but warily — the worst of the creatures of Hafgar's territory are concentrated around the lake, but there lives Sirona, goddess of healing. "She is a creator," Aerona says. "Sometimes creations can go wrong, but where the sickness is born the remedy will often hide."

Their progress is relatively steady until they encounter the wretched Mallt-y-Nos and her pack of enslaved hounds. She screeches among the monsters as they swarm the travelers, biting and clawing. Butler and Aerona are whirlwinds of blades. Holly, long past second thoughts, goes after Mallt-y-Nos full force, gritting her teeth against the screams and shrieks that pass the mottled old hunter's cursed lips. No. 1, belying his small frame, is dolling out swirling blasts of magic, taking the hounds out one by one.

The only one not doing anything is Artemis. He stands helpless before the horses, shivering and watching his friends fight tooth and nail for their lives. This is not what he was made for. He is a thinker, a creator, and what good is that if one's own mind cannot be trusted?

A hound breaks for the pack and charges straight for him. Butler shouts his name. Somehow the Sig finds its way into Artemis's pale hands and he raises it, firing just in time to pierce the dog's skull, but the beast's momentum carries it forward and it slams into him all the same.

Artemis falls into the snow, ice slithering down his collar, and — impact. His head smacks against a buried rock and suddenly — something's wrong. _Everything_ is wrong.

He scrambles out from underneath the positively monstrous — what is this, a bear? Wolf? It's no species he recognizes — and sees creatures. More of the gigantic hellish wolves. A little grey monster surrounded by ethereal, swirling colors, a tiny woman, a broad soldier, a gargantuan man. They fight with an alien viciousness. The little woman has guns that are shooting — are those lasers? That, he knows, is physically impossible.

Artemis looks down. There's a Sig in his hands. Where on earth is he?

A decrepit old hag dies with a blood-curdling screech, a joint effort of the tiny woman and the little monster. The giant runs his way, a sword in one hand, gun in the other.

Artemis shouts, backing away, bringing up his Sig and leveling it at the Giant's chest. The Giant stops abruptly, eyes widening.

"Stay back!" Artemis yells, waving the gun erratically. By now, the others have noticed. The monster and the tiny woman look horrified. She approaches slowly.

"Artemis," she says stiltedly. "Put the gun down."

He purses his lips, swallowing his panic. "Who are you?" he manages. "Where are we? What is _that?_" He brandishes the snout of the gun at the grey monster. It flinches.

The woman raises her hands. "What's my name?"

"How should I know? Where am I?"

Her face crumples, but she pulls herself together quickly. The giant takes a step forward, but she stops him with a hand to his forearm.

"You're scaring him," she whispers. The expression that crosses the giant's face is one of the deepest betrayal.

The gun trembles in Artemis's hands.

"I'm Holly Short," the woman tells him. "I'm not human. Neither is he." She point back to the monster. "We're your friends."

He licks his lips. Takes a step back. The gun quivers in his hands.

"Try to remember," she says. "Remember the siege. Saving me in Limbo." She swallows. "The gorilla cage."

It takes him another two minutes, but Artemis remembers, and when he does he drops the gun into the snow, clapping a hand over his mouth and sinking to his knees. Holly takes another step toward him and he opens his arms. She squeezes the breath from his lungs.

Forgetting the details is no longer important. Forgetting his age, his mother's name, is nothing. Forgetting this is like losing a piece of his soul.

"I'm sorry," he gasps, clutching at the back of her coat, threading his fingers through her hair. Butler kneels beside him, resting a hand on his cheek, and Artemis leans into his touch. "I'm so sorry. It won't happen again."

Holly presses her cheek against the cold, exposed skin of his neck. "Yes it will," she says, and kisses his forehead. "Now sit still and let me heal that head wound."

* * *

The endless expanse of snow bleeds into itself, making it impossible to ascertain how long they've been traveling. Holly joins Artemis on Horse Horse now, playing memory games and quizzing him as the miles pass and the blizzards blind them. He answers fewer and fewer of her questions correctly. They're attacked over and over — by packs of hounds, by Coblynau from the mountains who send rockslides their way, by shrewd, sickeningly giggly Gwyllion, who turn tail and run when Butler and Areona pull blades. Artemis recalls very few of these incidents.

For him, this road is only white.

"We will be reaching Tredegar soon," Aerona informs them after countless hours. "There perhaps we will find a brief respite."

Things are looking up — a warm meal, perhaps a bath, something to sleep on that isn't drenched with melted snow upon waking. They're all practically ecstatic. No. 1 cracks jokes and shoots colorful sparks into the sky whenever he feels particularly optimistic; Holly and Artemis bicker in the incessantly comforting way that they do. Butler even smiles every once in a while.

It's not until they are giving the horses a break that the illusion of hope shatters.

Holly and Butler have engaged in a snowball fight, both incredibly skilled marksmen shooting deadly powdery white strikes at each other and dodging with effortless grace in the knee-high snow. Holly's laughter rings over the plain. Artemis watches fondly, watching the life that thrives in the red hair peeking out of Holly's wool hat, a lone splash of color in the endless snow. She turns to him, laughing, and then he's got a face full of snowball and he's falling back into a drift. She runs to him, joyful, and grabs his hand to pull him up when —

Artemis is lost.

Snow creeps into his clothes, a tiny woman yanking roughly at his arm, a huge man looming over him with malice in his eyes.

"Get away from me!" he yells, arms pinwheeling, and the little woman obeys instantly, concerned.

"D'Arvit. Did I pull too hard?" she asks.

It's as if ice seals over his face and into his voice. "Stay away from me," he says. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

"He doesn't remember," another woman says — some sort of soldier, covered in weapons. He backs away, his breath coming fast, and then the howling starts. The others tense up.

"We must go," the soldier says.

"He doesn't remember," the smaller one says. "We can't —"

"We don't have a choice," the huge man says. "Ride. Now."

The giant scoops him up and he screams himself raw as they mount up onto huge horses and charge through the snow. He beats at the man, his fists ineffectually bouncing off leather and muscle, screaming until he can scream no more, pleading, let me go, _let me go —!_

They ride hard. It's perhaps half an hour before Artemis remembers, and when he does he curls his face into the crook of Butler's neck and tries to cry.

He cannot.

The next time it's an hour, the time after that, two. Eventually, half a day goes by until he remembers that he is not a prisoner.

* * *

Tredegar hasn't been hit nearly as hard as Ewloe was. The travelers aren't allowed to pass through the gate until Aerona concedes to let the guards take them to the high court, where they meet with Einion, a man built to the same proportions as Butler. He reigns there, and instantly eyes Holly and No. 1 with distrust before they can even explain why they're there.

"Kill the monster and the midget," he orders. "Keep the others."

The scuffle that follows is stalled when Holly uses her _Mesmer_, her voice capturing their attackers easily. Einion shouts for them all to halt and eyes Holly greedily.

"Your gift is mine now," he says, and the next thing they know the group has been split and tossed into separate frigid, dank dungeons with no weapons or food.

Holly and Artemis, both thrown to the ground in the same cell, huddle together for warmth. Her small fingers thread with his tightly.

"It's okay," she says. "It's all fine. In the morning, when they come to get us — or me, whatever — we'll fight. I'll fight them off, Artemis, and you run. I'll catch up with you."

"Absolutely not," he says coolly. "I won't leave you behind."

"You're absolutely useless in combat," she says, not unkindly. "Better to run. I'll catch up with you later. I bet you Butler and the others are having this exact conversation right now. In the morning we fight."

"No," Artemis snaps.

"_Yes_," Holly says. "We're not getting out of here unless I take out our guards."

"It's too risky."

"Too _risky?_ Your plans bleed risk out of their eyeballs."

"At least my plans aren't ridiculous, testosterone-filled shows of bravado and desire to go out with glory."

Holly stands, her face twisting. "It's none of that. This is the end of the road, Artemis. This is the only plan we've got."

"Well, it's complete idiocy!" He's on his feet, pacing furiously.

"What do you want me to do?" she yells, her face reddening.

"How am I supposed to remember you if you're _dead_?" he bellows. She rears back, shocked, not having even given it thought. Why should she? She's not the one lost in her own mind and unable to retain the simplest memory — what he had for breakfast, the name for the color of his horse, his own birthday. Artemis is furious to discover that his eyes are prickling with tears.

"Artemis," she whispers, and he bows his head so that she can take his face in her hands. Against his will, a tear lands on her arm. She strokes his greasy hair away from his forehead.

"You can't fight," he says.

"Too late for that," she replies.

It's unclear who kisses who, but it doesn't matter. Holly grips his face as if it will slip away like his memory if she lets go. Artemis's fingers curl around her waist, pulling her close. Their tongues slide together, their lips clashing, and somehow Holly has him pushed against a wall and sliding down so that she can climb into his lap and straddle him, and they push and grind and _god_, there will never be enough because after the connection in Limbo, after the time tunnel, they will never be able to be one again, but they can sure as hell try.

Artemis never wants to forget this, but he knows he will.

"We have to stop," Holly gasps. "Artemis, we have to stop, we have to. You're sick."

"I love you," he says. "For when I forget. Know that I love you so much it's impossible."

"Silly," she says, laughing a little. "I know that."

She can't know. He can't communicate it in words, so he kisses her again, his hand sliding up the back of her jumper.

"I shouldn't kiss you," Artemis says, his lips still brushing hers. "Diseases mutate. Humans carry it differently than fairies. It could transmit through any bodily fluid, potentially."

Holly's head falls back when his lips find her neck. "Foaly says it's highly unlikely to transmit via saliva or —" His teeth find her ear and she breaks off sharply, her fingers scrabbling over the nape of his neck.

"Who's Foaly?" he murmurs after a time.

Holly eases away. "It's okay," she says. "You might not even remember this come morning."

Her eyes are torturous to look at, but he'll never get enough to not forget them. "No, I suppose not," he whispers as she slides off of him and opens her arms.

"Stay with me," she says. "This may be all we have left. We'll be here until the morning comes."

She's so small, impossibly so. He curls into her, resting his head on her taut stomach, and they entangle themselves until it's impossible to tell whose limbs are whose, and they sleep.

* * *

Holly wakes him early, reminding him of her shoddy plan, and repeats it to him like a mantra, over and over, in hopes that he'll remember.

_The guards will come. Holly will fight. I will run._

He wonders what he looks like to her. He can't remember the shape of his face or the color of his hair.

_The guards will come. Holly will fight. I will run._

The moment the cell door opens Holly is a whirlwind of feral, cruel energy, clawing and snapping at eyes and soft skin. Artemis ducks out of the cell at the first moment possible, running as fast as he can from the sound of clashing metal and cries and a hint of the _Mesmer. _Down the dank stone hall he hears more sounds of fighting and knows the others are attempting to escape as well.

_The guards will come. Holly will fight. I will run._

He doesn't remember the layout, though he knows he should, but eventually finds his way to stone stairs and sprints up them, gasping for breath. He ducks behind a tapestry when he hears more guards heading for the dungeon, and when emerges, he's forgotten the plan.

_What do I do what do I do what do I do —_

Butler's upon him like a bear, sweeping him into his arms and nearly flying away from the palace. Somehow he's procured his pack and the majority of his weapons, and he shoots round after round into the men who come to stop them.

The rest is a blur. Artemis can't keep the present straight, let alone the past, and he comes to when they're riding like hell through the tundra, the horses gasping and whinnying. Aerona is bleeding profusely, throwing off No. 1's attempts to heal her until they're a safe distance away. Holly can barely control Horse Horse, fighting to stay in the saddle as they peal through the snow and far away from Treadegar.

"So much for friendly," she says, after they've stopped and Aerona is healed. They all laugh, relieved, except for Artemis, who has no idea what she's talking about. Holly brushes his hair back and kisses him in front of everyone until his smile is uncontrollable, and, exhilarated by their survival, they pitch camp for the night with high spirits.

* * *

When he was four, he was kidnapped from his own birthday party.

That he knows, when he wakes. That seems to be _all_ he knows, because he's having the same feeling right now as he did when he woke up in the pitch black boot of that car. He remembers this, but not his name, but he knows that he has to escape.

As quietly as he can, he slips his outerwear on, trying desperately not to disturb the strangers sleeping around him. His body aches with exhaustion and deprivation — he shouldn't be here. He should be home.

He's halfway to the flap of their strange animal-hide shelter when one of the people wakes — a modern-day Goliath, this man is. "Artemis, what are you doing?" he rumbles. His eyes land on the rucksack Artemis is loading with extra clothing and food and widen. He shakes a woman and a child awake. No, not a child. What the…?

"Wake up," Goliath says. "Holly, wake up. He's forgotten."

The child-thing is alert instantly, smiling hesitantly up at him. "It's okay, Arty," she says. "We're friends."

A flash by the other woman draws his attention to the hoard of knives in her coat. He scrambles back.

"I want no part in this 'friendship.' Where are we?"

"Annwn."

"Wales?"

"Oh no," whispers another voice, and Artemis's eyes are drawn to some sort of Creature — and he backs away.

"The blades are for protection," the woman says. "Your protection."

"Who says I need protecting?"

The child-thing huffs something that sounds almost like a laugh, and it sets Artemis's hackles on edge. She holds up her hands.

"I'm sorry. I'm not laughing at you. It's an old memory."

Artemis shoves his head into the neck of his cloak and clutches the rucksack. "I want no part in this. I'm leaving. Don't follow."

Goliath and the child-thing make to stand, but the other woman stops them with a hand on their shoulders.

"Arawn said to leave him behind when it came to this," she says. "And Artemis asked the same of us."

"Artemis doesn't remember asking that," Goliath snarls.

"Even so," the woman returns.

"I'll fight you if you follow me," Artemis says. Goliath and the child-thing pale a bit. Surely, he's not that formidable, but apparently they bought his bluff.

"Give him flint," the woman says. "And food. Coverings as well."

"He's not going," Goliath says, but it's weaker this time.

"We cannot afford to waste time, not anymore," she says sharply. "If we have any hope of finding the antidote before Artemis goes to his fathers then we _must_ leave him behind."

The tent is silent. Slowly, Goliath starts laying out supplies.

"No," croaks the child-thing. "We can't."

"Usk is very close," the woman says. "We will ride, beg them to watch over him. That is all we can do now."

"Here," Goliath says, and lays a wicked-looking knife on the pile he's made. "Carry this with you, at least."

Artemis shovels the pile into the rucksack, grips the knife hard, and flings the flap of the shelter open, whimpering a bit when the wind bites into the skin of his face. He stumbles out into the snow, putting distance between him and the strangers.

"Wait!" comes a voice, and he turns, brandishing the knife, to see the child-thing standing at the mouth of the shelter, shivering madly. "We'll find you," she says. "And we'll cure you. We'll go home."

"Stay away," Artemis says, walking backwards now. "Don't follow me."

An especially strong wind blows snow through the air in a thick wave, and he's gone from view.

* * *

Eventually, he doesn't know why he's walking anymore, but it doesn't make sense to stop.

The cold burns every bit of him; the exposed skin, the inside of his throat, his lungs. A dull, almost numb burn has started in his fingers and toes. Who knows how long he's been walking. Days, perhaps.

If he sleeps, he doesn't remember. He happens upon a village, one night. The children seem to be expecting him. Where are their parents? Where is some civilized technology? He asks for authorities, for some sort of rescue service, and gets nothing but dried meats and bread for his troubles. He takes what he can get, and sleeps in a bed before leaving the village of children behind to search through the snow for a way out.

He passes through another village, eventually, or perhaps it's the same one. His body is wrecked by cold and exhaustion, and they house him and feed him for a couple of days before he sets out again, determined to find his way home.

_Home_.

That is all he wants.

The hours start disappearing. Then the days. His timeline starts shifting and changing without his permission or knowledge. This unsettles him, panics him, because if he's so lost within himself, how will he find his way out?

After a while, it doesn't bother him anymore.

He figures it's like slow death by freezing. Ultimately the body will feel comfortable and sleepy with its plight before it shuts down.

The snow looks the same in every direction.

He starts to fall. He trips and goes elbow-deep into snow before struggling back up and carrying on.

* * *

Somewhere in the blur he falls and can't get back up again.

He curls himself in his blankets, huddling into the mediocre warmth they provide. He imagines real warmth feels like something, but he can't remember what it is. He's tired to the bone, and beyond. Fatigue runs through every strand of muscle.

He's sick. There has to be something wrong with his brain, for this to be happening, but also his body. He's freezing, but it feels like he's on fire. Snot leaks from his nose and freezes on his face. He's famished, but food is nowhere to be found. Vaguely, he remembers that he had a pack, but it's lost to the tundra now.

He's lost to the tundra too.

* * *

The blood on the snow is dreadfully vibrant. He yanks his knife from the belly of the enormous black hound splayed upon him and groans. It's impossible to tell how much of the red soaking into soft white is his. His chest burns with it, but he remembers for the first time in forever what warm feels like.

* * *

A little boy in fur is watching him. _Ghost_, he thinks, and sleeps.

* * *

His chest is bandaged, beneath all the layers of clothing. He wonders if he did that.

* * *

He can scream and scream into the tundra and no one will hear. He does it. The sound of his own voice keeps the loneliness at bay.

* * *

There is a battered gold coin on a cord around his neck. He holds it so tightly that the metal bends in his fist.

* * *

The wolf lays dead in the snow. He cries, but for what exactly he doesn't know.

* * *

Eternities pass, and he makes snow angels like a child.

* * *

His body bucks and jerks. The clean surface of the snow is disturbed. There is blood in his mouth and bile in his throat.

* * *

The boy in fur is closer this time, his fur swirling in the wind. He leaves a package in the snow tied in red ribbon before walking away into the swirling snow.

Inside is a bottle. Inside the bottle is foul-smelling liquid.

He hasn't eaten in ages, eons, millennia. How much time has passed?

He drinks it down. He tastes grass and citrus.

* * *

Footsteps approach through the snow.

He looks around, lazily fingering the handle of the knife he found buried in the snow the other day. A tiny figure is hunched before him, worn and pathetic. Underneath the grime, her face is rather lovely, if tired. Black widow pretty, he thinks.

"I came yesterday," she says.

"Did you?" he asks.

"Yes," she says. "You pulled a knife on me.

"You _are_ a stranger in a dangerous land," he points out.

Her dichromatic eyes — how odd, he thinks — close. She sighs heavily, world-weary.

"Haf reported that you swallowed the antidote," she whispers, her voice carrying easily over barren snow. "Everyone living who has taken it made at least some sort of recovery." She opens her eyes to meet his. A tiny smile graces one corner of her wind-chapped lips. "But you've always been stubborn."

He scoffs. "You don't know me."

"Neither do you."

This stops him. His knife stills between his long fingers.

"Tell me your name," she commands gently.

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's none of your business."

"Or you don't know it."

He stands, furious. He _should_ know it; he's brilliant. But he can't stay angry with her; she's too _good_, too right to deserve his anger. He doesn't know why.

Her exhausted eyes soften as she witnesses his anguish. He snarls a hand through his hair and pulls hard. "Hey, stop that," she tells him.

He does so, not for himself, but to make her happy. Pity radiates from her eyes. He shakes with anger.

"Don't feel sorry for me," he snarls.

"I don't," she says. "I just want you to come home."

The sunlight glares off of the snow, burning his retinas. He's forced to look away from her. He panics. If he looks away for too long he might lose her like he's lost everything else.

She gasps a little when he surges forward, perhaps expecting him to draw his knife. But for reasons he can't quite fathom he stops two feet away from her and just looks. Bristly red hair pokes out from underneath her hat, her nutty brown cheeks pinking in the cold. He brushes a pale thumb along her brow, trailing down to play at her blush. His index finger brushes against her ear and she breathes in sharply, her head tipping back.

And then, suddenly, the sun is far too bright, searing him, blistering his flesh from his bones. He cries out, falling back into the snow, and she goes down with him, her hands cupping his face. His next word is spoken with such reverence that it might have been a prayer.

She kisses him, and he calls her Holly.

* * *

**Whew! Longest oneshot ever. Thanks for the read darlings, and please leave a review!**


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